PROLOGUE
Daniella
There was nothing more beautiful than Savannah at the cusp of summer.
Flowers were in bloom, the foliage on the trees thick and well-nourished from the increasing humidity and warmth. Butterflies were everywhere, enjoying sweet nectar while birds created a perfect symphony overhead.
The afternoon storm had given way to rays of sunshine dancing across the horizon, the rain exacerbating the rich, floral scents filling the air. Some might say I was a dreamer, but the reality of everyday life was a stark contrast to the beauty of nature.
Tonight was no exception.
On top of yet another shitty day, my mother had called, her insistent tone instantly putting me on edge. She knew better than to try to encourage me to come to the house she’d easily made her own. It certainly wasn’t my home and never would be. Not for the obvious reasons such as that I was now an adult andnever planned on living under the same roof with my mother and her husband again. My life was just beginning, college taking all my time.
There were other less admirable reasons.
Or maybe I should say darker, more vile reasons.
I’d been accused of not caring enough about my family. That wasn’t true. I simply cared about a family lost, a mother who’d once been loving and kind. My palms were sweaty just thinking about going inside.
Was I thankful she’d finally come out of her deep depression? Of course. After losing my father to such a horrible crime years before, she deserved happiness, yet from the beginning of their whirlwind romance lasting three weeks, I’d had my doubts the man was completely admirable. Plus, he had a sordid reputation, which should have given her the perfect excuse to keep her distance.
Instead, she’d fallen head over heels in love.
I’d tried to tell her the real estate developer was a smarmy man, but she’d refused to hear what a teenager had to say.
I had difficulty trusting anyone, but I hated the man and his son. My mother had tried to say he was the brother I’d never had. In the years I’d been forced to deal with him, he’d been a bully, a twisted kid with an attitude since his father was rich. He’d acted as if he owned Savannah and every city surrounding it because of his wealth and their power.
His friends were all wealthy, the pack of assholes acting as if they didn’t need to follow rules or laws. What pissed me off was thatthere never seemed to be any consequences. No one would dare fuck with Zane Emmett.
He and his father were exactly the same. They were standoffish pricks with entitlement issues. Fortunately, he’d been away at college for two years, rarely returning home. Thank God for small favors.
With exhaustion settling in, when I pulled up in front of my stepfather’s home in the heart of the South Historic District, I had a very bad taste lingering in my mouth. I was only here out of a favor to my mother. And the fact that she’d assured me she was alone, my stepfather always working. As I stepped out, I shielded my eyes from the waning light and peered at the gothic house.
Maybe I was a little superstitious, but the massive four-story building and its ornate façade had given me the creeps from the first time I’d laid eyes on it. I could swear I’d seen the location in some horror flick over the years, only the demons hadn’t been played by actors but ghosts haunting the place.
Living there had been even worse, demons plaguing my nightmares and they’d always had the same face.
Zane’s.
I shuddered as I headed toward the door, reminding myself there was protocol when coming to the house. They had staff, men and women who tended to everyday needs from shopping to landscaping, cleaning and if I had to guess, kissing the patriarch’s ass.
The sharp knock was quickly answered by a polite but stern-looking older woman.
“Ms. Dunham. You were expected. You’ll find?—”
“Thank you, Margaret. I think I can find my mother by myself.” Maybe I was being rude, but the pomp and circumstance was completely foreign to the way I’d grown up. At least until the tragic day just after my tenth birthday. We’d had a loving, happy household with daily laughter and a messy house, but there had been love and light even if everything wasn’t in a perfect place.
Then everything had changed, shattering the rose-colored glasses I’d been stupid enough to wear. Never again.
When I walked into this house, it felt more like I’d entered a mausoleum. There was no music, no sound other than the clicking of my boots on the twenty-four-by-twenty-four marble slabs. No life other than the people living here, even though my sweet mother was little more than a shell of who she used to be. And no sign of love anywhere.
My friends and my roommate had advised me my extreme hatred and constant criticism of my mother’s marriage and her surroundings was based on my fury at my father for daring to die, leaving us all alone.
They’d encouraged therapy.
I’d chosen to relish my hatred of the Emmett family and keep my nose to the grindstone. As soon as possible, I was moving very far away.
I headed through the house, ignoring the priceless works of art and Persian rugs, each one costing more than I made in a year. I knew where I’d find her. When my stepfather was out of the house, she spent her time in the conservatory. A fancy name for the room that had the grand piano.
